


Rearviewmirror

by LaTessitrice



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-12-30 18:15:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18320639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaTessitrice/pseuds/LaTessitrice
Summary: Prompt: M&M It 100% happens again





	Rearviewmirror

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted from Less Seen Roswell New Mexico Ficathon on LJ.

“Shut up.”  
  
Neither have them have spoken for half an hour, but Guerin just opened his mouth in her peripheral vision and Maria knew that whatever was about to come out of it was going to piss her off.  
  
His mouth moves again.  
  
“No,” she insists. “Nah-uh.”  
  
She’s hardly in the best state to be doing this drive back to Roswell, given she slept in the frigging desert last night and _hangover_ is putting it mildly, but the alternative is letting him drive. And there’s no way she’s letting Guerin behind the wheel of her truck. Not after the way he criticized her driving within the first five minutes of them setting off. He might be good to the engine when she needs him to be, but she won’t give him the satisfaction of letting him drive.  
  
 _You gave him plenty of satisfaction last night._  
  
She tells her inner voice to shut up too, tightening her grip on the steering wheel. If she keeps grinding her jaw like this her headache will only get worse.  
  
“Is this how it’s going to be?” he asks into the tense quiet, gesturing between them. She’s not sure if he’s referring to her insisting on silence, or the tension itself, which has replaced their easy banter.  
  
It’d be easier to ignore the elephant in the room if she’d had the chance to shower before they set off, but instead they carry each other’s scent, inevitable after a night tangled together. She’d have to wash the blankets to make sure there was no trace of him left on them—he might not exactly smell like a river, but motor grease and drugstore soap were going to give her full body flashbacks whenever she smelled them in the future.  
  
If only they’d both been too drunk and high to properly remember. As it was, she’d merely been a little buzzed, the cold night air chasing the warm fuzziness away while they tried to get unlost. Instead Maria only had herself to blame for a decision she’d been sober enough to make.  
  
Like letting Guerin follow her around all day even when she knew exactly what he was after.  
  
“Doesn’t have to be,” she replies. Before he can ease into more conversation, she continues. “I could kick you out and leave you to find your own way home.”  
  
“Harsh, Deluca. We’re in the middle of nowhere.” He indicates the endless desert stretching out in every direction beyond the road. They hadn’t seen another car since they left town.  
  
“Follow the road and it’ll lead you to a town eventually.”  
  
But now the silence has been broken, he doesn’t seem to have any intention of shutting up. “Come on. It doesn’t need to be weird. I bought you breakfast!”  
  
“A granola bar and Capri Sun doesn’t count, Guerin. It barely touched the sides of my headache.”  
  
“I’m sorry the cuisine in Texan gas stations doesn’t meet your high expectations. I’ll remember to bring caviar next time.”  
  
“ _Next time?_ ” She glances over at him, incredulous. “I already told you there is no next time. Are you so full of yourself you think I would ever—”  
  
“You were full of me last night, and you seemed to enjoy it.” He shrugs, easing into the bickering like it’s comfortable. There’s a spark in his eyes, suggesting he’s enjoying himself now the ice has been broken.  
  
She slams on the brakes.

He braces himself on the dashboard in time, rubbing the back of his neck dramatically when he’s thrown backwards as she cuts the engine. “You trying to kill me, Deluca?"  
  
“Get out.”  
  
“I’m just trying to lighten the mood!” He doesn’t move, and she’s not sure how she’ll actually go about carrying out her threat. He’s stronger than he appears. As she discovered.  
  
She shakes her head to get rid of that thought.  
  
“Don’t. I like my mood where it is right now.”  
  
“A headache, huh? I know a solution for that.”  
  
“It had better be Tylenol.”   
  
His sideways smirk suggests he has another idea in mind. “Don’t have any on me. But I’d be willing to lend a helping hand another way.” He wiggles the fingers on his good hand.  
  
“Will you just _shut up?_ ”  
  
She does the only thing she can to make it happen. She grabs his face between her hands and kisses him.  
  
It starts off angry, and the way his mouth twists under hers into a satisfied grin only stokes her ire. She pushes him back into his seat, hands moving down to his shoulders to pin him into place while she maneuvers her way into his lap and astride him.   
  
He clutches her hips, dragging her down to grind against him, the ridges and seams of their jeans adding a delicious friction already.   
  
“Just to be clear,” pulling her mouth away to tell him this very important detail, “this is only to cure my headache, and your job is to make sure that happens.”  
  
He’s tugging at her earlobe with his teeth, his scruff adding to the stubble rash he’d decorated her neck with last night. “Oh, I’m clear.”  
  
She has no intention of getting undressed, but her jeans are a hindrance to what she wants. She sets about wriggling out of them, enjoying the way Guerin reacts to her twisting in his lap as she does. He’s a surprisingly breathy moaner. He’s got a handful of breast, pulling her bra down and her shirt up so he can make it a mouthful. There’s a tug at her neck, the cold slide of metal as her pendant breaks loose and disappears between them, but that’s a problem for after. The cold doesn’t bother her when Guerin’s mouth is so damn warm.  
  
She busies her hands by releasing her headache cure from his jeans, and that’s pretty damn warm too. Warm and solid in her palm, unimpeded by petty matters like underwear, which Guerin never bothers with. It should bother her this is something she knows about him now, but she also knows that his calloused fingers feel great against her slick skin, and that doesn’t bother her at all. Not when he’s demonstrating it, delving between her thighs and stroking just right.  
  
His fingers are good. They’re not enough.  
  
From his back pocket he produces a condom, and she takes charge of rolling it on, then pushing his hands out of the way so she can shift her hips enough to sink down onto him.

His head rocks back and he lets out a throaty groan, which abruptly cuts off when she leans forward and nips at the exposed column of his neck.   
  
His answering grin when he meets her eye is feral, and it sets something loose inside of her. She lets go, not bothering to start slowly but working her hips at a savage pace, slamming onto him. He tries to thrust up to meet her, but she has no interest in a smooth rhythm, not when each stroke hits parts inside her that still ache from last night. It’s a good ache, like she had another orgasm caught inside her all along and she’s just chasing after it, as fast as she can. Never mind the burn in her thighs. Guerin better keep up.  
  
Low in the distance she can hear the drone of an approaching engine and it becomes a race, a frantic rut and grind, before she’s over the finishing line. It ripples through her, bursts of pleasure which mask the fact that she’s yelling “Michael”, twisting up and off him before he can follow her.   
  
Not that it stops him. Only the condom prevents him making a complete mess of himself and her truck.   
  
Then he stares at her with this…stunned expression which softens into something closer to awe, and that has her shaking herself, breaking eye contact, digging around in the footwell for her jeans and a pack of wipes.  
  
When the other truck passes, they almost look respectable.  
  
“You’re right, I do feel better,” she tells him brightly.  
  
“Glad I could be of service.” Whatever had come over him during his post-orgasmic haze, it’s gone, as fast as it came. “Can I drive now?”  
  
“Absolutely not.” She starts the engine. “And that was the last time. Definitely.”  
  
“Sure.” He nods, and though he doesn’t sound as cocky about it as he did in the desert, she thinks he thinks this is the beginning of something. What, she shudders to think. Not friends with benefits, because they’d have to be friends first, but he’s certainly imagining the benefits.   
  
But however good the sex is, there are other benefits to their weird dynamic she doesn’t want to lose. Her least favorite customer is the only one she can actually stand, and being able to wipe his bar tab in exchange for his mechanical skills is nothing to be dismissed easily.  
  
The weird tension is back. Only two more hours till Roswell.


End file.
